


Caught in the Act

by Finny (WolfFangFinny)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Caught in the Act!AU, Erwin has an alias, Kilroy Was Here!AU, M/M, Rock!AU, based on a Styx album/concert, war against censorship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2014-07-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 06:24:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1972293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfFangFinny/pseuds/Finny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Retro-futuristic!AU based on a Styx album/concert/shortfilm called Kilroy Was Here.</p><p>Jean Kirstein is an adolescent in charge of a renegade movement of hundreds of kids trying to bring back rock n roll after it has been completely censored. First plan? Break rock superstar Marco Bodt out of prison for a framed crime. With Marco's help and extra guidance, Jean and his band of renegades devise a plan to take down Dr. Righteous and his plan to force feed censorship on the nation. It'll be tough, but it's nothing Jean isn't used to. Hopefully his efforts won't die in vain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught in the Act

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, just a quick disclaimer. This idea is not entirely mine. It's greatly inspired by Styx's "Kilroy Was Here" album, and this first chapter is pretty much a direct correlation to the short-film that goes along with the album. However, this is work as a whole is not entirely based on that short-film, as the proceeding chapters will continue where the film leaves off.
> 
> There will be a chapter for each song on the album, and the main players are Jean (Jonathan Chance), Marco (Kilroy), and Erwin (Dr. Righteous). Everyone else will more or less be supporting cast, but I'll squeeze as many characters in as possible.
> 
> I hope everyone enjoys the ride!

_I'm not a robot without emotions_

_I'm not what you see_

_I've come to help you with your problems_

_So we can be free_

_I'm not a hero; I'm not a savior_

_Forget what you know_

_I'm just a man whose circumstances went beyond his control_

\- "Mr. Roboto" by Styx

 

* * *

 

 

Each night was the same.

Crowds from all over gathered at bonfires. They’d bring with them standards of depravity, throwing them into the orange flecks of heat and cheering as they burned. Smoke floated to the sky, gathering in clouds that dulled the twinkling stars. It was almost like a metaphor. That’s at least how Jean Kirstein felt about it. Polluting the night time air with the pointless bonfires that served no real purpose other than destroying his pass-time, his hobby, his reason for waking up in the morning: The bonfires were just one big metaphor for the censorship that plagued civilization.

However, the one act that got to the young teen the most was the arrest of his idol. Murder? No...he would never murder anyone...would he? That’s at least the the heretic whose obnoxious face infected the sky babbled on about that particular night. Jean stared at the hologram in the sky, oddly enough the only thing not covered by smoke. The words he spoke chilled Jean to the bone. The anxiety was only amplified by his peers standing around, chanting “No more rock!”

“Marco Bodt, you have persistently and flagrantly violated Code 672, which prohibits the playing and purveying of rock music. You are convicted of the manslaughter of a member of the Majority for Musical Morality. You are here-by sentenced to life imprisonment.”

The hologram flashed to the freckled face of the man in question. The look in his eyes pleaded innocent, and Jean could tell that everything he’d just witnessed was flat out wrong. His eyebrows furrowed. Marco Bodt was a model citizen in Jean’s eyes. Kind. Compassionate. Always giving his fortune for charity. Young, but very talented. Why was he the subject of corruption? Jean clenched his teeth in anger, a growl escaping his lips.

“Calm down…” his friend pleaded. Jean’s glare redirected to the shorter man beside him.

“No, Armin. Can’t you tell this is wrong?” Jean asked. Armin bit his lip and looked down.

“It is, but…if you start a riot now, you’ll be toast…”

The crowd around them changed their mantra. Now, they were just chanting one single name repeatedly. “Righteous.” The hologram switched from Marco Bodt’s expressionless, defeated face back to the clean-cut blonde with an undercut responsible for the prison sentence.

“Moms and Dads, I see the future,” he started, voice completely void of any real emotion, “I see a future without rock n’ roll music. As I speak to you now, young people all over the country are burning guitars and records. Burn until we together have eradicated this vile plague that Elvis Presley brought down upon our nation.”

The crowd went into a cheering uproar. They proceeded to throw more guitars into the fire. Jean stared as the flames engulfed them. Every burned guitar was just one more dream crushed by the Majority for Musical Morality. He looked down at the record in his hands. He always found it corrupt that he had to throw away good music every time he was dragged to one of these meetings. He let out a sigh. Beside him, Armin threw a record into the fire as if it was just a frisbee. Jean couldn’t take it.

Good idea or not, maybe a revolution was what this country needed. Jean turned on his heels and ran, not succumbing to the pressure of throwing away one of his prized possessions. Armin ran after him, pleading for Jean to stop. Rather than stopping, Jean glanced back at his friend and smirked. Jean’s smirks never reassured Armin. In fact, they only gave him more reason to doubt Jean’s decisions.

Jean ran along a wire fence, Armin in hot pursuit. He finally came to a stop in front of a sign. Not bothering to look around, Jean immediately took a pen out of his bookbag. A laser extended, and he began engraving a message on the sign. Armin looked behind him, noticing a small drone spying on them. He tried pulling Jean away.

“C’mon, Jean, let’s get out of here, alright?” Armin pleaded.

“No, no, look!” Jean insisted, referring to his message, “This is rock code. Marco started this when rock went underground, and we’re gonna start it up again.”

“Yeah, okay, it’s really pretty, but we need to get out of here!”

“No!” Jean yelled. The drone crept up behind them and flashed a bright light. Armin pointed.

“Jean, look!” he yelled. He started pushing Jean away from the sign. “Go! Go!”

This time, Jean caved and ran as fast as his legs would carry him. Armin was trailing not far behind. After the light shone, all attention from the crowd was on them. Angry yells of their protest echoed through the air, and it wasn’t long before objects were being thrown at them. The drone was hot on their trail, and the fence only managed to trap them in. The situation seemed dire, but Jean and Armin were used to this. They knew the drill.

There was a hole at the bottom for the fence. Once they approached it, Jean rolled onto the ground and proceeded to crawl through it. After he made it through, Armin crawled after. Jean grabbed the blonde’s hands and yanked him out. The drone attempted to fly through the gap. By the time it got through, though, Jean and Armin had already escaped into a secret underground passage set up by the Renegades Against Censoring Entertainment, or RACE for short.

The face of censorship and control was still broadcasting to the world. He didn’t just infect the sky. His voice was on radio, and his faced plagued the TV. Despite the banning of music, television had free reign everywhere, including living rooms and prison cells. For the prisons, it was used as a brainwashing tactic. Inmates were forced to sit in front of the TV and watch the programming forced on them.

Marco sat in his cell, staring at the television as the so-called Dr. Righteous continued to spew garbage from his mouth. Not a single word sounded cognitive, and his speech was riddled in fallacies. It sickened Marco to listen.

“Can we change these rebels? Can we cure this illness? I believe we can. As I speak to you, the rock n’ roll transgresses of the old world are being retrained in our hospitals and prisons.”

The television was promptly shut off. Marco glanced at the bars locking him in his cell. A dark figure stood on the other side as they opened. It walked into the cell, placing handcuffs on Marco and escorting him out. Marco was a bit happy to be out of his cell, but it still didn’t change the fact that he was being treated like a criminal.

But I’m not a criminal…

Marco was forced to sit in the dining area. Or…that’s at least what he assumed it was. Everything looked the same in that damned prison. The walls, guards, floors, and ceilings were all a metallic gray, casting an overall hazy feel to the facility. Every day, they’d sit the prisoners down in that same exact area and force them to eat. The only food served to the prisoners was fried chicken. Marco never understood why. There was no substantial nutrition, and he was sure that he’d clogged at least two of his arteries by eating it every day. It wasn’t as if the prison tried to keep it a secret. The guards themselves admitted to it every day with the same announcement as they dealt out the boxes soaked with grease from the heart attack inducing chicken.

“Attention prisoners: We, your ever present and ever helpful guards, will now serve the usual evening meal of Dr. Righteous Fried Chicken, like your fried chicken breakfast and lunch. This has been contributed by Dr. Righteous and members of the Majority for Musical Morality.”

Every time a meal was served, a guard would relay that same message. It didn’t surprise Marco. After all, the guards were just robots programmed to do a job that no one else wanted to do. He sighed as one of the guards waddled over and handed him his box of chicken. Marco opened the box, delicately pulling a drumstick out and staring at it. He’d grown tired of this diet. He figured the least they could do is throw some mozzarella sticks or jalapeno poppers into the mix to spice things up. Food was food, though.

“Bodt,” the guard said. Marco looked up at the robot, raising an eyebrow. “I am instructed to inform you that you are due for your periodic hair clipping at 1700 hours today. Thank you. Please conform and confirm.”

Marco blinked his copper eyes at the robot before letting out an impatient sigh. “Well I can confirm…that if I confirmed or conformed, at least I’m afraid my atmosphere would turn fractious by perforating that can of worms.”

A few fellow prisoners laughed at Marco’s sarcastic statement. The guard stared at him before looking around and processing the message. It turned its attention back to Marco.

“Please repeat,” it pleaded. Stifling some laughter, Marco stood up. He held a chicken leg in his hands as he bowed at the robot.

“So sorry, repetition not applicable,” he condescendingly stated. The guard bowed back at him before turning around. The fellow prisoners were laughing and applauding Marco’s audacity. It encouraged him to step it up a notch. He tossed the leg behind him and followed the guard, waddling with his arms out as was habitual of the robots. After a few steps and more cheers, the guard turned around and looked Marco in the eyes.

“How may I help you this evening?” Marco asked, replicating the usual tone the robots used. The guard didn’t answer his question. Rather, it looked Marco dead in the eye. After a few seconds, Marco could feel a shock go through his body, and he immediately grunted and hit the floor. An uproar from the other inmates started like wildfire. One of the prisoners threw a box of fried chicken at the robot.

“Hey, guard!” he yelled, proceeding to walk over, “Your mother was a Toyota!”

The others egged him on to continue harassing the guard, but he didn’t get the chance. An alarm sounded as the guard alerted the rest of the facility.

“Attention! Attention! Riot in the eating area! Gas please!”

Before anyone knew it, clouds of knock-out gas flooded the mess hall. Everyone began coughing, and the riot became lethargic. The sounds of protest soon ceased as everyone fell down to their knees before lying flat on their faces and falling into a deep, unwilling sleep.

* * *

 

Jean fumbled with the lock of a doorway above him. Armin was waiting below him on the ladder, looking around to make sure none of the guards were after him. His blue eyes wandered back up to Jean, eyebrows furrowed. After some fiddling, Jean finally pushed their obstacle up and over the hole. He felt around, making sure they were climbing onto a solid surface. Then, he poked his head up, amber eyes scanning the area. Seeing as the coast was clear, Jean climbed through the hole.

“C’mon. This way,” he ushered as Armin came up behind him. The duo walked through a corridor. As they approached a room, the sound of Dr. Righteous’ voice got louder and louder. Jean cringed. He absolutely hated that man. There was nothing he wanted more than to take him down, and he was taking the first step to completing that goal.

“Can we change these rebels? Can we cure this illness? I believe we can,” the older blonde’s voice droned as Jean and Armin approached a television with several connector boxes and wires strung about. Jean fished around in his tan satchel for something before finally pulling it out. Armin examined the connectors, huffing a sigh.

“This guy is on every channel,” he muttered, clearing away some wire. He pointed to one of the ports. “Connect it to this one; the entire world will see it.”

“No, no, this one here!” Jean said, shaking his head. Armin watched, confused as Jean hooked it up. There was a huge spark, and the two of them backed away. The television went out, but came back. It wasn’t broadcasting Dr. Righteous, but rather a video of Marco performing at one of his concerts.

“Hey, Marco, look at this!” an inmate yelled, nudging Marco. He turned around to look at the television, stunned at what he was seeing and hearing. What was this? Him? He was supposed to be having a brainwashing session. What changed?

“You can’t stop the music, you bastards!” Jean yelled into the television. On the other side, where it broadcasted to the prison, Marco heard his message. This had to be a dream.

“This is Jean! Jean Kirstein! And I’m going to stop your corruption no matter what! Long live rock n’ roll!” Jean yelled before he and Armin ran off, exchanging a high-five and howling in victory.

“Jean Kirstein…” Marco repeated, thoughtful.

At some point the programming was hijacked and returned to scheduled programming. When that happened, Marco turned back around. Up until that moment, he believed the entire nation -- no, the entire world had given up on rock. The night he was arrested at his own concert felt like proof enough. However, this moment was a saving grace. It proved to him that there was still someone out there who cared. Someone gutsy and passionate enough to sneak into the correction facility and change the programming. Not only that, but it was one of Marco’s own performances. Watching himself singing “Borrowed Time” with a smile on his face and zest in his movements reminded him of why he even became a musician in the first place. A tiny smile cracked at the corners of his lips. This was a sign that he needed to escape. He needed to find this Jean Kirstein. He needed to start a revolt.

Or rather, this was a revolution.

Once the prisoners were sent back to their cells, Marco couldn’t help but notice a small booklet lying on the ground on the way to his. Seeing none of the guards around, he picked it up and examined it. It was blue with diagrams of the guards on it and the title What Not to do to Your Guard. He raised an eyebrow. The existence of a book like that seemed uncanny. Not only that, but it was rather short and put together with staples. It was a cheap pamphlet, really. He could only assume that maybe Jean Kirstein and whatever accomplices the kid had left it there. He stuffed it down his shirt and returned to his cell.

After sitting down, he made sure it was still safe. Reassured of this fact, he dug the pamphlet back out and opened it. The pages seemed to list weak spots for the guards. Marco took note of each one. Yes, this was definitely a sign, likely overlooked by one of the guards. Just knowing a few of the basic weak spots was enough to help Marco form a plan. He knew exactly what he was going to do.

Clonky footsteps grew closer. Marco looked to the side and noticed a guard coming his way. He quickly hid the pamphlet back in his shirt as the guard made its way over. It opened the cell door, stepped inside, closed the door, and turned toward Marco. He gave the guard his undivided attention as it bowed and extended a hand forward.

“I am instructed to inform you that your behavior today has penalized your privileges for this period. Your punishment is scheduled for 600 hours tomorrow. This is your formal notice, Marco,” the guard droned. Marco waved his hand.

“Guard, your statement has no meaning. You are an error,” Marco sassed.

“Error?”

“Yeah, your error light is flashing!”

“I have an error light?” the guard asked. Marco stood up and walked closer.

“You mean to tell me you didn’t know you had an error light?” Marco asked, faking concern. The guard put up a finger.

“No deviants, Marco.”

“No, no, no tricks here!” Marco said, turning the guard around to face the mirror, “C’mon over here and look in the mirror.”

“Error? Error?”

“Right over here, behind your neck.”

“Error? Error?”

As the guard turned its head, Marco lifted his knee, letting it collide swiftly with the guard’s groin. The grinding of the gears sounded as the guard fell back, shouting profanities. Marco winced at the pain in his own knee, but ignored it to climb onto the robot and strip it of its mask and uniform. He quickly put both on while the robot was distracted and reopened the door to his cell.

Disguised as one of the guard robots, Marco was easily able to make his way through the halls unnoticed. He mimicked the walk cycle of the machines and soon made his way to a ladder leading upwards. He immediately began climbing the stairs, stopping only once to lift his mask above his eyes to see how much further he had to go.

The end was in sight, as was his lousy prison sentence.

* * *

 

“This just in from the MMM News Network. Marco Bodt, former rock singer and convicted murderer, has escaped from a state prison in Trost harbor. He was last seen heading towards the city, and is considered extremely dangerous.”

The message was repeated as often as possible on the radio. Marco could hear the message as he walked down the street. He blended in as a normal service robot, though, so no one knew to suspect him. Still, he felt the need to stay as far away from people as possible. He mainly stuck to backroads and alleyways, making his way through the city until he could find something to leave a message on. A message that hopefully Jean Kirstein would see.

He spotted signs with Dr. Righteous’ face on them scattered across a tall building. He raised an eyebrow under his mask, walking towards it. For a reason he couldn’t comprehend, there was a ladder leading to the top where the posters were located. His best guess was that the ladder provided an easy means of changing the posters around. Whatever the case, he climbed up to the top. In his outfit, it was a bit difficult, and he could feel his feet slipping off the steps from time to time. However, he made it up and walked towards a poster. Reached into his suit and pulled out a laser pen. He stared at the poster. The blonde hair, those blue eyes...everything about that picture mocked him. He wasted no time writing his message right across that dapper, perfect face.

* * *

 

“Come on, Jean, we can’t go in there! This belongs to Righteous!” Armin climbing over a wall with Jean. The aforementioned shook his head and smirked.

“No, you saw the writings. They said Paradise. This is the Paradise Theatre, Armin!” Jean insisted, walking forward towards a door.

“Yeah, but this is the last place that Marco’s going to be!” Armin retorted as the two of them stopped in front of the door. Jean examined it, narrowing his eyes to see what was inside. It was completely dark in there. He grabbed the handle of one of them.

“Well, I’m going in,” Jean curtly stated. Armin sighed.

“Fine…I’ll, uh…watch the door.”

When Jean walked in, he noticed two rays of lights aiming towards each other. He walked towards them, figuring they must lead somewhere. He decided to tread, slowly, though. There was no telling what sort of surprises awaited him. Slowly, he noticed a light turn on, revealing a stage. Bright red letters reading “Dr. Righteous’ Museum of Rock” illuminated above as more lights started to beam on. An automaton of Jimi Hendrix stood before him.

“What’s up, babes, my name’s Jimi. Welcome to the Rock Museum. We have sex, drugs, death, destruction, perversion: Everything that makes life ugly.”

Jean poked it a few times, making sure it wasn’t real. He continued walking on. He passed another automaton of Elvis Presley performing “Blue Suede Shoes” in front of a jukebox. However, that didn’t catch his eye nearly as much as the scene on the stage. He walked immediately towards it. Much to his dismay, a bright blue LED sign below it reading “MARCO KILLS” clued him in on what he was walking towards.

It was an automaton of Marco performing the same action on a constant loop. He’d strum on his guitar as a protesting member of the Majority for Musical Morality tried to stop him. Then, he’d lift the guitar over his head and bang it down on the protester's head. It was a reenactment of the scene that caused his conviction. It was almost enough to bring bile up Jean’s throat. A recording of Dr. Righteous came on as he came closer.

“This is Dr. Righteous. Here is our main exhibit. On this very stage, Marco flagrantly violated Code 672 which protects the public from degenerate music. Depicted here is one of the killing of one of my Crusaders for Musical Morality.”

As the recording played, Jean climbed up onto the stage. He stood next to the automaton, watching with disgust as it tarnished Marco’s name. Feeling the rage build up inside of him, he grabbed onto the guitar in the automaton’s hands and yanked as hard as he could. A few wires ripped and broke, and the guitar was soon resting in Jean’s hands. He looked it over, feeling an odd sense of satisfaction.

“Jean Kirstein!”

Jean heard a stranger call his name. He spun around on his feet. A shadowy figure was coming towards him. As he focused his vision, he could tell that it was a service robot. He lifted the guitar above his head with the intent of bringing it down on the robot’s head. However, he hesitated as the robot reached up towards its mask. Slowly, it grabbed the mask and pulled it above its head. Jean lowered his arms, eyes wide with awe. A tiny grin formed on his face.

“Marco…” he murmured, walking forward and putting his hands on the other man’s shoulders, “I can’t believe it’s really you…”

“You’re Jean, I take it? You must have seen the messages I left around town about the Paradise Theatre,” Marco said, smiling. The two of them parted as Jean ran a hand through his sandy hair.

“I knew it. You saw didn’t you? When I hijacked Righteous’ TV show, right? When I heard you’d escaped, I knew you saw it!” Jean said. Marco laughed, raising a brow.

“What can I say? Your message gave me the strength and courage to break out of there. I wasted so much time rotting in a cell on a diet of fried chicken, surrounded by robots. It was awful…” Marco said, pacing around the stage. He turned back to Jean. “Honestly…I’d given up.”

“Gave up? But…”

“But, your message let me know that at least someone cared.”

“Well, it’s not just me!” Jean shouted. He pulled a badge out of his satchel and grinned. “I’m the leader of a movement called RACE. There’s tons of kids just like me that have had it with this censorship crap.”

“And you’re the leader?” Marco asked.

“Mm-hmm. Our goal is to undo the injustices of that Righteous bastard. Honestly, I wish we could have brought down the entire prison, but I knew that wasn’t gonna happen. So, I targeted my idol.”

“I’m your idol, eh? Now it’s making sense…” Marco said, sighing.

“No, it’s not like that! We elected you as the symbol of our cause. Even when everyone else quit, you continued entertaining us. You created a language to communicate for us! Everything you do…we feel like it’s for us. Getting you free was my first goal. We’re devising a plan back at the base. We’re ready to do something, and we wanna do it now,” Jean explained.

“Wait, if you’re gonna Righteous on, you better be prepared,” Marco warned, voice dripping with concern, “He doesn’t play games.”

“Pfft -- are you kidding? We’ve been prepared for a damn long while, so there’s no problem with that. Speaking of games, though, I need you to give me an honest answer to something,” Jean requested.

“Hmm?”

“Over there…” Jean directed, pointing to the automatons. “Who killed that kid? Was it really you? I don’t want to believe it, but…I just gotta know before I take you back with us.”

“Oh…that,” Marco said, closing his eyes and sighing. He sat down on a platform behind him. “I was framed…Dr. Righteous, he…he sacrificed one of his own men. He killed a loyal follower of his just to arrest me and take the final stand against rock n’ roll.”

“That’s awful…” Jean walked over to Marco and sat beside him. He felt absolutely disgusted. “What really happened that night, then?”

Marco smiled, looking up. “I can never forget it. Rumor had it that Righteous and his men were gonna raid the concert and arrest the band, me included. We didn’t believe it. Or rather, we didn’t care. It was a chance worth taking, y’know? So, we played the concert. It went smoothly, save for a disruption by Righteous while were were in intermission. Ironically, though, at the end of ‘Renegade,’ he attacked us. The MMM arrested everyone away violently. I wasn’t even on stage when that poor kid got murdered…and you know what happened after that.”

“Oh my god…I don’t even get how things got this bad. I mean, that escalated so quickly!”

“Well, Righteous just became more and more powerful. It started with the censorship of Rock n’ Roll, but it grew to encompass books, TV…I don’t even think it was the music that was in question with him. He only cared about the freedom of expression,” Marco pointed out. Jean shook his head. He brought his fist down on the platform underneath him.

“Dammit…dammit! Why does it always have to be like this? Why does some douche canoe always have to come in, piss in the punchbowl, and ruin life for everybody? This has happened time and time again, but no one seems to listen. No one cares. This is crazy. How come for one fucking time, we can’t just learn from the past?”

“Hey, come now. You sound like you’ve given up…”

“I haven’t. Righteous thinks it’s over, Marco. Righteous thinks its over, but it’s not!” Jean yelled.

“Now that’s determination. I can tell you that it’s definitely not over. In fact, this is only the beginning. I think I’d like to meet your organization. If you’ll allow me, I think I wanna join this RACE group of yours,” Marco said. Jean stood up, smirking. He was about to accept Marco’s offer when Armin came running towards them. He climbed onto the stage, worry on his face.

“Jean, someone’s coming! I could hear them! We need to leave now!” Armin yelled. Jean turned to Marco.

 

“In that case, we need to get the hell out of here. Do you know an exit?”

 **  
**“Yes, I do,” Marco said, putting his mask back on. “Just follow me until we’re safe in the alleyways.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter was really long. I don't know if the others will follow the same patter. As you can see, romance is not the main purpose of this story (though it will have significance as the plot progresses).
> 
> A lot of you may be asking yourselves "Why write a story like this? Why not do a domestic, college, or coffee shop AU?"
> 
> Two answers.
> 
> 1) Styx has been my favorite band for six years, and as much as I make fun of Kilroy Was Here for being the reason why the band split up in 1984, I think the story actually had a lot of potential had it been executed slightly differently. Also, the songs on that album are kickass (though I stand by my belief that The Grand Illusion is the best album to bring in new fans as I hate no songs on it).
> 
> 2) I wanted to do something unique. There's already enough well written JeanMarco AUs that fit in the above categories such as Like a Drum, Forget Me Not, The Art of Cutting Cookies and so forth. I want to bring something a little different to the table, so why not combine my OTP with my favorite band?
> 
> I've wanted to do this kind of thing for years, but never had the right opportunity. I'm hoping this won't blow up in my face.
> 
> So, with that said, I'll put links to the short-film and opening number that inspired most of this chapter. If you enjoyed what you read or have suggestions, don't hesitate to give me a review! Kudos would be great, too!
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y0yTeUrCjms - "Kilroy Was Here" (Short-film)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f6m6m0hh9IU - "Mr. Roboto" (stage sequel to the above short-film)


End file.
